Exile
by Bobbie23
Summary: A fresh start isn't as easy as you think.


**Disclaimer – I don't own** _ **Law and Order: Special Victims Unit**_ **or any of the characters.**

 **Author Note – This is for my dear friend NickandLiv, I hope you enjoy.**

Exile

" _Outcasts, callused from being in exile for too long, learn to thrive on being the hated; the attention and infamy of our actions fuel us to become antiheroes. Too often do we forget: we risk self-destruction if we fail to follow what we know is right; our talents too often become misplaced, misdirected, misguided from what could have been something wonderful."  
― __Mike Norton_ _,_ _Fighting For Redemption_

Sun the beats down on the back of his neck and he remembers why he misses New York for the fifth time today. Perspiration beads on his forehead and he does his best not to swipe at it. While summers in New York could be hot, they didn't compare to California. He stops at a corner and discreetly looks at the signs and realises he's lost. Again.

He misses New York.

Not bothering to hide his frustration with himself or the city, he sighs loudly and looks around to figure out where he is. After a minute, he gives up. His knee aches from the walk. It was still healing but he's been able to stop using the crutches. The walks were both for therapy and to help him figure out where the hell he was before he started looking for work. Right now his life consisted of a revolving rota of PT, Zara and Gil. He needed more than that, wanted more than that. He came out here for a fresh start. He was on relatively good terms with Maria and Cynthia. Neither of them had been too accepting of his decision to move, Cynthia was defensive and confrontational when he announced his arrival in Cali, questioning his motives and reinforcing the boundaries she put into place when he came into Gil's life back in New York. It just reaffirmed his suspicion that he was the reason for their move, so he wouldn't be as involved in their life. He could understand that she had been a single parent to their son for a long and he didn't want her to feel threatened by his presence, he just wanted to know his son. Similarly, Maria had been wary of how close he would be even though she was more receptive. He thought she was worried about him interfering in the routine she had developed with Zara, just like Cynthia was. Apparently her offer of starting over was null and void. He met the man she had been dating and he realised why she was really concerned. His temper had gotten the better of him in the past, it didn't this time. Of course there was a stab of jealousy when he saw them together the first time, and he knew it would always be there, it just didn't affect him like it had before. It seemed like his children were the only ones who were happy he was out here, and for him, that's all that mattered.

Behind him he hears the clinking of glass and he turns to see a bar. He's never been one for drinking alone but he'll make an exception. He's done trying to figure out his new city today. He doesn't have anywhere else to be, now or later. It's just him and his apartment and the silence between them. He isn't very good with that or the brooding it entails. The thought of getting a pet flits across his mind.

He misses New York.

Entering the bar his eyes adjust from the too bright sunshine to the contrasting din of the bar. It's the middle of the afternoon and it's virtually deserted. A man rises from one of the booths that line the far wall and bids farewell to his drinking companion who remains seated and hidden by the departing man. Nick approaches the bar and orders a beer.

He lifts himself onto the stool and looks around the bar. It's different from the few other bars he's encountered here, kind of reminds him of the bar around the corner from the precinct in Manhattan. It's tried to recreate that kind of décor with dark wood and the dated pictures on the wall. It's not as in your face or as bright as the other bars. Even the bartender, a portly guy in his sixties, knows how to read his customers, knows when to talk, knows when to listen, and knows when to stay out of it. Nick nurses the beer placed in front of him, tries not to project his brooding.

He thinks about home, thinks about calling. He's avoided it apart from the occasional call to his mother to make sure she was okay. His mother was missing him and her grandchildren. She could still hover from nearly three thousand miles away, constantly checking his progress and how much he was eating.

Nick misses her and can't wait for her to visit.

He misses work, Olivia, Fin and Amanda. Hell, he even misses Carisi and his attempts to drag him out to a bar with his friends from school. He misses Noah too, often wonders how he's developing. He hasn't called them, they've rang him for some follow ups on a few cases he closed before the shooting. None of them could talk for long, claiming they were busy dealing with work. For the most part Nick's okay with that, he doesn't want them to know how pathetic his life is right now. Maybe he'll feel like talking to them when he has something to talk about.

To the side of him, the other customer rises from the booth and leaves his paperwork spread across the table. "Another beer," the guy orders from the bartender and tosses a few bills on the bar.

Nick's ears pick up on the distinct accent of home. He turns his head to the side and stops. He's not sure if this is what he expected, how or if he expected to meet the man before him. He covers his surprise as his counterpart notices his stare and frowns at the interest. Of course he knew what his predecessor looked like. It's not like all photos were taken down in the squad after he left the force and he has seen the grainy black and white image Olivia has of them, the one where her arm is slung around his neck, every time he's been in her living room.

Nick nods once congenially and speaks, emphasising his accent. "New York?"

Elliot squints at him, sizing him up. "Yeah," he confirms.

Nick doesn't want to seem eager, he's heard how bull headed he can be. He's knows Elliot will be put off if he is too interested. "Visiting?"

He can see the doubt as the squint turns into a frown. Elliot seems to shake off the suspicion as his beer is placed in front of him. They've piqued the bartenders' interest. "Moved here a few years ago," Elliot says, clearing his throat before taking a long pull on his bottle.

"I've been here less than a month," Nick offers congenially and sips his beer. "How long did it take you to figure it all out?" He asks nodding back to the street with a smirk.

Elliot pauses, still trying to figure out why a stranger was talking to him. He knows something's up but Nick acts the fool. He's got one chance, something he never thought he would get especially not out here in California, he can't blow it. There are a lot of questions he wants to ask, a few things to say. He would be lying if he said he didn't want to go toe to toe with the man, but that would do little to resolve the resentment Nick held towards him and the way he treated Olivia. Besides he doubts his physical ability to do much to the man who, for his age, still looked capable of taking someone down.

"I haven't," Elliot admits stiffly, his suspicion still coming through. With another cautionary glance, which Nick meets with what he hopes is innocence and gullibility, Elliot relaxes his stance.

"So why'd you move?"

A muscle in Elliot's cheek twitches and the other man stares away, looking at something neither Nick nor the bartender could see. If Nick hadn't witnessed the fallout from Elliot's decision to leave New York he would feel sorry for him. Elliot blinks and turns his head in Nicks' direction. "My wife wanted a fresh start."

"Mine too," Nick offers knowingly.

"Didn't stop us from getting divorced though," Eliot replies, bitter and resigned all in a few words.

Nick takes it as a signal not to force that particular topic, understanding it too well. "Still, you decided to stay."

Elliot shrugs. "She's here with our youngest and I already bought into a friends' security company," Elliot answers and Nick can understand that too. After all that's why he's out here. "What about you?"

The question and its' tone surprises Nick. Elliot wants a trade, reason for reason, if only to get a better read on the man brave enough to ask him questions when it was clear he didn't want to be asked. "Both my exes moved out here with my kids and I was going to stay in New York but I, ah, caught a bullet with my knee," Nick explains. Elliot frowns again and Nick elaborates. "Perp was less than happy with the judge's verdict, tried to make a run for it."

"You were on the job?" Elliot asks.

"Detective," Nick bobs his head. "Put my papers in now but I was in Narcotics and Warrants. Spent the last few years working Special Victims out of Manhattan," he adds casually looking Elliot square in the eye.

Elliot inhales as his back goes rigid. He looks Nick over as the realisation comes over him. Nick realises he must have kept tabs on the unit and knows who he is. Maybe he hadn't given up so easily. Nick expects repercussions and hostility for his indiscretion. He receives none; instead Elliot plays into Nick's pretence.

"Good team," Elliot says and it's meant to sound like a question, but Nick hears the confidence and surety of the statement.

"The best," Nick agrees and Elliot nods his head.

Silence follows and Nick watches his counterpart closely. Elliot does little to hide the emotions playing across his face. Something shifts inside of Nick and any resentment he feels slips away. It's obvious Elliot is affected by the mere mention of his old unit and his partner. Nick feels for him. It's born out of circumstance and knowledge rather than a shared history. Elliot's been where he is, where he was. Neither of them could've come back from where they were. They never would have progressed within the police force. Their records wouldn't have let them; IAB would have been too worried about their shaky fingers on the trigger.

Nick climbs down from his stool and he stops when Elliot pulls out his wallet and flips it open casually. Nick can't help but look at the few photos, a few of his family, and then the black and white one poking out from behind them, the one he's seen numerous times Olivia's apartment, her smile beaming through the other pictures. Elliot takes a card from one sleeve and hands it to Nick. He reads it once and looks back at Elliot.

"If you're interested give me a call when you're healed and ready for work," Elliot explains.

Nick doesn't respond verbally and bobs his head non-committedly. It's a gesture born out of respect and what it's like to serve in the same unit, with the same people, with the same partner; if he's good enough for them, for Olivia, that's all the information Elliot needs. And though he doubts he'll call, Nick takes it as the compliment it is.

Nick looks down as he reaches into his pocket for his wallet. He barely pauses as he removes the recently printed card he took from the newly appointed Lieutenant when she received them days before he left New York.

"Give Liv a call," he says sliding the card across the table and leaves it front of Elliot. "She misses you. She deserves to know you miss her."

With that he turns on his heel and exits the bar. His knee is no longer bothering him and his stride is stronger than it has been in a while. He doesn't look back but his thoughts are still on his predecessor and his self-imposed exile. Nick knows why California appealed to him. It was the furthest he could be from New York without leaving the States. It removed temptation. Nick wonders if Elliot had stayed in New York if he would have still been in Olivia's life. The torment is still there, the same that's in Olivia's eyes when Elliot is mentioned. Nick wants Elliot to take his advice, has doubts that he will. Nick is aware the outcome may cause Olivia some pain and stir up old feelings but no more than not knowing what's become of her former partner. She needs closure and he's certain Elliot will benefit from it as well.

Nick may have walked in Elliot's shadow, but he doesn't want to wallow in it. Nick doesn't want to isolate himself from his friends or his past, he isn't running from anything and this chance meeting is the push he needs for his fresh start.

He may have left New York. It doesn't mean he can't visit.

" _Exile is a dream of a glorious return. Exile is a vision of revolution: Elba, not St Helena. It is an endless paradox: looking forward by always looking back. The exile is a ball hurled high into the air. "  
― Salman Rushdie, __The Satanic Verses_


End file.
